In the back of my closet are some lovely tweeds, a raw silk sports coat, button-down shirts, and khaki and grey pants. Part of the wardrobe of my days working on the management end of things.
Suits, though, were never part of that. Now, if I dug deep enough, we might locate a single, very plain brown suit. The lack of suited attire was my rebellion against the quiet dress code of the office. The day my last government job ended was the last time any of that was worn. Just thinking about it now gives me gas.
I am a jeans and T-shirt type of guy now, except when I sport some of my collection of Hawaiian shirts. I especially save the raw silk one with the embroidered Hula girl on the back for special occasions, though.
So you can see that I am definitely out of my comfort zone when The gentleman at the LL Bean store asks how the purple rain jacket looks on his pear shaped frame. I tactfully say “just nifty” while feeling a bit bilious at the shade of purple and the oversize contours of the jacket. But, of course, his wife is standing there glaring at me. But hey, If she wants to step on his style choices, it’s on her.
I grab the plain yellow foul weather gear off the rack and try it on. Style-wise, in some things, I am a creature of tradition. And yellow foul weather gear is the epitome of it. I doubt I’ll ever be out in a gale again, but If some flashback to an earlier phase of my life should occur, I’ll be ready.
So if you ever see a guy on the dock with a broad-brimmed Panama hat, ratty cargo shorts, a WoodenBoat T-shirt with holes in it, a loud Hawaiian shirt, and yellow foul weather gear, please come on over and let me know what you think of my blog. I can take it. Honest.